


Scotland the Brave

by juicehoee



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Random & Short, Romance, Short & Sweet, Short Story, bagpipes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-04 07:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15836214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicehoee/pseuds/juicehoee
Summary: Chibs' musical hobby clashes with some of the other club members, leaving Juice to come to his rescue.





	1. Chapter 1

An off-key wailing of bagpipes filled the clubhouse, creaking reeds assaulting everyone’s ears as Chibs marched through.

Every once in a while, Chibs was known to bring out the bagpipes, which was all well and good, except that he had never really learned much how to play them. His music came from the heart, that was for sure. No silly technical maneuvers or actual musical prowess were involved.

Chibs’ brothers all knew to clear the deck once the bagpipes came out. Most tended to skedaddle right out of the clubhouse, but other, wiser figures (this means just Bobby) had invested in a pair of headphones to protect his eardrums from the offensive ‘music’ that poured from Chibs’ soul (and his bagpipes).

Chibs was the very essence of Scotland. He wore his kilt, and his Glasgow Grin stretched as he blew air into the pipes to create off-key screeches that sent everyone running.

When Jax warned him about this occurrence when he first started prospecting, Juice didn’t see what the big deal was. How much damage could Chibs do?

He found the answer after going to the emergency room to repair his ruptured eardrum after being subjected to a private show. Chibs had apologized, but he also hadn’t stopped playing. There were just some things he wasn’t willing to do. 

On this particular Tuesday, Chibs wailed with no warning. It started from his dorm room, a faint screeching behind his door. Then the door slammed open, and everyone looked at each other, panicked. A reckoning was coming.  _ He _ was coming.

Chibs descended down the hallway into the bar fast. There was no time for escape. Well, Jax ran straight out the door without looking back, but everyone else was stuck in the clubhouse. Bobby had his earplugs in, leaned back in his chair, and read the newspaper. Happy and Tig were hiding under a table, pressing their palms against their ears for protection. Juice cringed, but he didn’t know what to do. 

Make a run for it? Dive in between Tig and Happy?

“Juice,” Bobby grunted, throwing something across the room to him. “Got a pair of these for you a while ago. Thought you’d need these more than anyone. Including me.”

Juice looked down at the fresh pack of earplugs, thanking God that he was so blessed to have Saint Bobby in his life.

“You’re a goddamn lifesaver.” Juice cried as he shoved the plugs into his ears before Chibs emerged from his room to the core of the clubhouse.

After a long round of a botched “Scotland the Brave”, Juice thunderously applauded Chibs without actually having heard any of the song. Chibs bowed and blew kisses toward his horrified audience, blissfully unaware of the trauma he’d caused them.

“Why, thank ye!” Chibs shouted. “You were a lovely audience today. Who wants an encore?”

“I gotta go.” Tig yelled, running toward the door. He slammed into it in his haste, crumpling against the wall, unconscious.

“I gotta go, too. Ma needs me for, umm, groceries!” Happy excused himself, stepping right over Tig’s body on his way out the door.

Chibs frowned, but only for a second, as he turned to Juice. “Would you like an encore, Juicy?”

Juice jumped, realizing Chibs was talking to him. He took his earplugs out as discretely as he could, hoping Chibs wouldn’t notice. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you wanted an encore.”

“O-oh!” Juice looked to Bobby for help, but he wasn’t paying attention. “I would love an encore from you.”

“Lovely!” Chibs clapped his hands together. “And here we go!”

He delved into another rendition of “Scotland the Brave” (Juice was pretty sure that was the only actual song he knew) and Juice had to endure it this time without the earplugs.

Juice’s eardrums twitched a bit, but they didn’t start bleeding which was an improvement. Maybe Chibs was actually getting better at this?

An inexplicably horrible note from the bagpipes a moment later made Juice think that no, Chibs had decidedly  _ not  _ improved his playing.

But the happiness that exuded from Chibs while he played made Juice smile. A real smile, not a fake, get-me-through-this-before-I-have-to-go-to-the-emergency-room-again smile. Chibs was happy playing the bagpipes, making music, and sharing it with the ones he loved.

That’s all Juice ever wanted for Chibs. Happiness. Creativity. Expression. Even if it came in the form of botched bagpipe music.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes.

 

“Juice!”

There was no mistaking Chibs’ distress call. Juice looked up from the book he was reading to see his lover bound toward him, practically knocking over his chair in the process.

Juice steadied himself and stood up, wrapping his arms around his stressed man. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“M’pipes! Someone’s broke them!”

Juice felt a sigh of relief upon hearing that, but he felt immediately guilty when he looked upon Chibs’ pouting face. Clearly, he was hurt, and Juice didn’t feel any relief from that.

“Come on, let’s talk in private.” Juice said, eyeing the front door suspiciously.

As they both waddled toward Chibs’ room so Juice could see the damage done, Juice couldn’t help but wonder: who had done it? Who had broken Chibs’ heart like that? Who did he have to punch in the face to rectify it?

“‘Ere it is.” Chibs showed him the bagpipes.

Irreparable damage had been done. Broken, slashed, torn to shreds as a ghost of the glory they once held. It was pure tragedy, in Chibs’ eyes. Vandalized. Defaced. Disrespected.

Juice was determined to make the perpetrator pay.

Chibs’ buried his head into the crook of Juice’s shoulder, very close to sobbing. Juice tucked Chibs into his side and rubbed his back, trying to soothe his strong, Scottish man.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Juice whispered. “We’ll get our revenge on whoever it was that did this to you. I’ll punch ‘em in the face. With my rings on.”

“Wha’ if we don’ figure out who it is?” Chibs asked tearfully.

“Then I’ll punch everyone in the face with my rings on.”

Juice was surprised, Chibs never acted like this. So vulnerable and helpless and downright  _ clingy _ , stuck to Juice like glue. Not that Juice minded any of this, he actually quite liked having Chibs hanging off of him like his life depended on it, but he’d never seen Chibs like this.

“My da’ gave me those.” Chibs said, his voice nearly cracking. “He tried to teach me, but I was always shite at it. He never let me forget it even after he was in a box.”

Juice didn’t say anything right away, just massaged Chibs’ shoulders.

“Tha’ rat bastard was a drunk. I could smell the alcohol on ‘is breath when he got in my face. When he go’ sick, I couldn’ run fast enough to Belfast.” Chibs sucked in a breath, composing himself before he went on. “Prick hated Ireland. I knew I’d never see him again.”

Juice played with the collar of Chibs’ shirt, feeling the fabric between his thumbs. He held Chibs close, squeezing him tight, knowing there was more to spill, more to tell. Chibs had a complicated past, Juice knew what he’d signed up for.

“I jus’, I jus’ thought if I got good one day, I could ge’ my da’ outta my head.” Chibs continued. “But I’m still shite. An’ I can still hear ‘im. Yellin’ and screamin’. Tellin’me I’ll never be nothin’ but a thug and a cheat. He was right.”

Juice felt a fifty-foot wave of guilt wash over him for resorting to earplugs to block out the sound of his lover’s music. Something so important to Chibs was so easy for Juice to shut out and it was wrong. Juice was wrong and he felt every sheer aspect of it.

Filip Telford was a man of strength, seemingly unbreakable in the face of danger. He’d survived so much, and he had the scars to prove it. This unbreakable man put all his self worth into an instrument he couldn’t play, destructing himself slowly over decades of tone-deaf playing. Just to impress a father who could never have loved him.

“He’s not right, Filip.” Juice whispered against Chibs’ hair, letting Chibs cry into his shoulder. “He’s as far from the truth as any one person could be. Like right off the map. So far off course, it’s crazy. I bet he was a shitty golf player.”

“He was.” Chibs chuckled, rubbing the tears away with his knuckles. “He was as shite at golf as I am at music.”

“You make beautiful music.” Juice said. “Deserves a Grammy. I don’t give a fuck that all the other guys head for the hills when they hear you. I want to hear you play every day for the rest of my life.”

“Every day?” Chibs chuckled. “I don’ think we can afford all the medical bills for the ruptured eardrums if I play for ye  _ every  _ day.”

“Most days. Whenever we can both manage it.”

“What about our wedding? Can I play it then?”

“Filip Telford, are you proposing to me?” 

“No! Not yet, at least…”

Juice kissed Chibs’ hair. “Of course you can play at our wedding. And if anyone runs out, we won’t let them back in.”

“We’ll be the only ones left!”

“Good,” Juice smirked. “We can start the honeymoon early, baby.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice gets his revenge on the culprit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! Don't know why this cute little story took me almost a month to write.

Tig leans back in a chair in the clubhouse, reading some freaky porn magazine he found online. Normally, he hated the damn internet, but once in a while it came in good use. Juice was none too pleased about having to help him order it though.

He’d said it was ‘poor taste’ and probably ‘illegal’ for Tig to even think about the shit that was in that mag, let alone purchase it online.

Juice watched him from the corner, disgust written all over his pretty Puerto Rican face. However, this disgust isn’t about the filthy porn magazine in Tig’s hands. 

Oh no, the disgust on Juice’s face is the result of the blood on Tig’s hands. The blood of a certain Scot’s beloved bagpipes.

This meant war.

Juice went back to his dorm room to set up his revenge. For Chibs. He needed to do this for Chibs. God help the man who hurt his beloved and forced the tears from his eyes.

“Hey, Tig!” Juice called out. “Can you come here for a minute?”

“Son of a bitch!” Tig yelled. He was just starting to get to the good part of the magazine. “The hell do you want, Ortiz?”

“Just come here, asshole!”

Tig threw the magazine across the room. It hit Chucky, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. Only took the magazine and made sure the pages weren’t folded over.

Tig walked toward Juice’s dorm room, an attitude in the way his hips moved when he walked over. The door, slightly ajar, hinted at the darkened room, making Tig narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“Juice?” he called out.

“Come in and close the door behind you.” Juice’s voice wafted through the room.

Tig shrugged and did as he was told (first time in his fucking life), but the lights didn’t turn on and Juice didn’t emerge from the darkness. When he was little, Tig had an intense fear of the dark that may or may not have come from his mother locking him in the closet all the time, and he felt a panic coming over him any second.

“Cut the shit, Ortiz.”

“Sure.”

Before Tig could figure out which direction the voice came from, he was clocked over the head, Juice’s metal rings connecting with his temple.

And with that, Tig Trager went out like a light.

***

Twenty-three minutes and forty-four seconds later (Juice had counted on his old stopwatch), Tig awoke with his ass hurting in a hard, wooden chair from the barroom. The room was still dark, he couldn’t see anything in front of him, even his hands.

Well, of course, that was because his hands had been bound behind his back with handcuffs and his arms were tied to his sides. Even his torso was trapped under a crude tying job, sticking his tight to the wooden chair. 

He was going to kill that stupid Puerto Rican bitch.

“You’ve done something bad, Tigger.” the devil himself spoke.

“So? I do bad shit all the time. What are you referring to, jackass?” Tig snapped back.

A light snapped onto him, burning his retinas with the power of a thousand suns. Tig moaned out in pain, squinting his eyes and trying to turn his head away from the bright lamp. Juice forced Tig to look at him.

“I’m referring to my Filip’s broken heart.” Juice spat, holding out the remnants of Chibs’ demolished bagpipes out in front of him

Tig’s eyes went wide. Fucking shit.

“So, with your credit card information,” Juice smirked an evil little smirk that only someone with a horrific plan could smirk. “I bought him a new one. Top of the line. Grade A. Bigger, better volume.”

“How much was-”

“Six thousand dollars.”

Tig’s face turned a sickly green and he felt as if he were about to faint. Juice threw a cup of water, drenching his front and slapped him a few times. “Oh, no, no, no… I want you awake for this.”

“Please,” Tig begged. “Make it stop.”

“Since this gift would be impossible without your generous contribution,” Juice backed up but kept the lamp in Tig’s face. “I figured you should be the first one to hear it.”

The lights flickered on, leaving Tig even more blinded with the lamp in his face. Before him stood Chibs, with shiny new bagpipes, vibrant fabric with handwoven stitches, in his hands.

“That piece of shit cost me six thousand dollars?”

Juice slapped Tig across the face. Tig spit the blood out of his mouth.

“Easy, Juicy,” Chibs soothed Juice, rubbing his strong, tan arms until the anger drained from his face. “I think tha’ this is revenge enough for wha’ he did.”

“Play for him, baby.” Juice said, running his fingers along Chibs’ jaw. “Show him how talented the love of my life is.”

Tig pretended to gag and Juice took a menacing step forward, stopped only by the tight grip Chibs had on his wrist.

“Juice…” Chibs warned.

“Play, baby. Play the song you’re gonna sing at our wedding.” Juice said, nuzzling Chibs’ neck.

With that, Chibs went into a rousing rendition of one song after the other, the end of one and the beginning of another unintelligible. Tig’s face twitched as he fought against the handcuffs, trying to no avail to protect his eardrums from the assault Chibs subjected him, too.

“Rat bastard…” Tig muttered as he watched Juice sneakily put in some earplugs without Chibs seeing.

He just wouldn’t stop. Tig swore it had to have been a half hour before Chibs even stopped to take a breath. The screeching made his ears cry under the pressure and Tig wished for the sweet, loving embrace of death. Any type of hell would be better than this one.

After Chibs finally took a break, drenched from head to toe with sweat and pride, he turned to Tig for an assessment of his performance. 

“Well, Tigger? What’d ye think?” Chibs asked. 

Juice could only see the pride in Chibs’ eyes, the glistening Scottish twinkle of a job well done and done proud. “It was beautiful, my love. Don’t you think, Tig?”

“Fuck you, Ortiz.”


End file.
